


Apollo

by thelensfocuses



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, First Meetings, French!Sherlock, M/M, Tumblr: exchangelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelensfocuses/pseuds/thelensfocuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Sherlock is a researcher aboard the International Space Station and John is the flight surgeon. Vignettes from 400 kilometres above.</p><p>
  <i>For bumblebeesandsussex's Exchangelock prompt "What if… Sherlock worked as a researcher on the International Space Station and John as the physician?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apollo

**Author's Note:**

> _Author’s Note: INCREDIBLE creative liberties have been taken to depict the ISS and the duties/protocol on board. My knowledge of space and space exploration is severely limited to my research, Gravity, Apollo 11 and Chris Hadfield’s YouTube videos (which I would highly recommend to anyone wanting to know about space). Realistically, the flight surgeon (code SURGEON), who directs all medical activities during the mission, would remain at the Mission Control Center in Houston. His/her job would be to monitor all vital signs through telemetry, and radio in any necessary crew consultation. For the sake of this story, he has been placed on-board the station. Their nationalities have changed to reflect the most probable ratio of international passengers aboard. Special thanks to everyone at[SHJW](http://shjwwriterscircle.tumblr.com/) for the advice and beta-work, and to Chris Hadfield’s TED Talk video for the analogies. You can watch it [here.](https://www.ted.com/talks/chris_hadfield_what_i_learned_from_going_blind_in_space)_

 

_\---//---_

 

_“There reaches a point, somewhere between weeks five and six, where the routine starts to become just that- a routine. It becomes eerily normal to wake up on a spaceship in your private little pod, tethered to the wall with a Velcro sleeping bag and not much else. Then it’s on to start your day. Run diagnostics. Check in with the crewmembers. Call a meeting to order. Report with the ground below. Exercise. Eat. Exercise more. Soon it starts to become almost clockwork. You start to wonder if this could ever get old to you. But then… Well. You turn your head just a quarter of an inch, and there- just there- is the universe outside. You see the Earth right in front of you, and it’s just like you see in all the pictures, but somehow it’s so much better. There’s this incredible sense that you’re travelling with the Earth as it makes its way around the Sun’s orbit. Turn your head around and there’s nothing but a blackness so thick you feel like you could reach out and put it in your pocket. It’s breathtaking. And it’ll never get old.”_

_\- Audio Diary of Flight Surgeon John Watson, CAN, ISS Expedition 42. 12/10/2015_

 

\---//---

 

“Have you chaps met yet? John, this is our researcher, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Flight Surgeon John Watson. He’s the man in charge of making sure we don’t do stupid crap that gets us hurt.”

And that was how they met. Plain and simple. No sparks, no fireworks, no love at first sight- just a simple brisk handshake and a quick smile. They were more than halfway through their ground preparations for the next expedition and the pace was picking up. The list of things that John had yet to do was triple the amount that he’d actually completed. For what had to be the sixth time that day, John wondered if he was getting too old for his job. At 38 and his third expedition, he was about ready to call it quits.

If the man- Sherlock, he reminded himself- noticed his dazed state, he didn’t comment. Instead he only smiled, the corner of his lips terse. “Jean. Pleasure.”

The slight accent of Sherlock’s voice caught John off guard. “French, eh? Not often you find a Frenchman on one of the expeditions. The last time was what, early 2000s?”

Sherlock hummed noncommittally, though his focus on John was intense. John had the distinct impression the man was analyzing him as if he were a slide under a microscope. Was there something on his shirt? He glanced down, only for a moment, but didn’t miss the quirk of Sherlock’s mouth as he did so.

The silence hung between them, thick and unpalatable. John reached up to rub the back of his neck, itching to break it. “…Well, then again, there haven’t been that many Canadians in space, either. Looks like we’re the odd men out. We’ll have to stick together,” John finished lamely.

“Quite,” Sherlock responded. Succinct; yet, somehow, not cold. A man of few words, perhaps? It was hard to say at this point. John would have to work on it. Otherwise, conversations between him and the other astronauts would be like pulling teeth.

When it became obvious that no other conversation would be forthcoming, John turned back to Mike, the man that had introduced them. The American had watched the interaction with barely concealed amusement. “Have you heard the status on the spacewalk simulator?” John asked. “Murray’s been itching to get in it for the past hour.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Mike responded, patting John’s back as he walked away, a barely hidden smile gracing his face. _What was that all about?_ John wondered, but decided not to let it phase him. He was about to leave when a voice called him back, reminding him that the Frenchman was still there. In his hand he held John’s ID- the ID that he had been sure had been in his pocket only moments before.

“I would watch out, Jean. You will never notice change around you if you are distracted.” The brunet placed the ID card into John’s hand, his touch lingering for a just a moment before retreating back. John’s eyes flitted up, widening a bit when they met Sherlock’s own.

_Oh._

John swallowed, his breath shaking. “…Thanks. I should… Well. It was nice meeting you.” His words sounded lame to his ears as he stuffed his ID into his pocket, unable to meet the man’s gaze yet again.

Sherlock’s answering chuckle only served to make his ears burn more as he turned away, all-too-aware of the eyes that burned a hole in his back.

Well, this would be interesting- but if John had learned anything in his life, it was to keep calm and think through his actions. He could make this work. 

 

\---//---

 

The coffee Sherlock handed him was hot enough to burn the back of John’s throat as he swallowed.

“So. Biology, then,” he croaked, already feeling the fuzziness of his tongue.

If Sherlock noticed John’s dilemma, he didn’t comment on it. “Yes, among other things. Human science and chemistry as well.” The man leaned against the counter of the tiny lunchroom, his own coffee in hand.  

It had been another three days before they had crossed paths again. The Space Center was definitely huge- it had to be, considering the sheer number of people it needed to man it- but even that shocked John. He was used to seeing the researchers at least once a day during flight preparations or health checks, at the least. But not Sherlock. Every time they bumped into each other, Sherlock was just as brusque as the first time, intent on his work-- and every time John wondered whether he was imagining Sherlock’s flirting or if it was actually true. It was only after John found Sherlock one day without his head in his lab work that he was able to get more than three words out of him. Whatever happened in those five minutes of conversation, the result was a mutual agreement to meet at least once a day to talk.

John didn’t question the unusual friendship that had merged between them. After all, Sherlock was an unusual man. A brilliant, cheeky and borderline arrogant man, but at least he was genuine.

“What are you trying to prove, then?” John asked, taking a large bite of his sandwich and wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“My team and I have been advancing the research already done on cell and tissue growth. How we can stop it from degrading; but most importantly, how we can force the body to regenerate rapidly in certain areas.” Sherlock paused, taking a sip of his coffee. His tone was of someone who had done enough grant interviews he could probably recite the speech in his sleep. “Any cuts one receives in space can be fatal. We want to prevent that.”

John nodded, understanding from experience. It wasn’t a new project that Sherlock was proposing, but it was a crucial one. “So, plenty of skin and blood samples, then,” John mumbled around another bite.

“Exactly,” Sherlock agreed, smirking. He reached over to grab a crisp but John’s hand swatted him away. The pout that John received in response was practically criminal. He tried not to think about how plump his lower lip seemed.

_Focus, Watson._

“You said a team?” he asked. So far, John had only seen Sherlock undergoing the rigorous training required for launch. He blew on the top of his coffee in a futile attempt to cool it. How Sherlock was managing to gulp his down, John had no idea.

In his distraction, Sherlock had somehow managed to grab a handful of crisps. He popped one into his mouth, crunching triumphantly. “I was the most suitable to fly,” Sherlock replied. The meaning was implicit. Young, fit, single. Most of them were. No wife or children to worry over them while they were cruising above the atmosphere.

John reached for a napkin, passing it to the other man. Sherlock gratefully wiped his fingers free of the grease the crisps had left behind. Taking another for himself, John wrapped the rest of his sandwich up. “And now, here you are,” he remarked, smiling.    

“Exactly, Jean. Here I am.” And Sherlock smiled as well, his eyes shining with an emotion John could only describe as admiration. John took another sip of his coffee to keep himself from saying anything stupid, only to curse as he burned his tongue yet again. Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh in response; a deep, throaty chuckle that seemed to surprise him just as much as it surprised John. They fell into a companionable silence, listening to the occasional voices crackle on the intercom.

“How are you feeling about all this, then?” John asked, his voice hushed. He didn’t need to specify with the man what ‘this’ meant. There was only one thing on everyone’s mind right now. The upcoming launch loomed over them like a great, foreboding shadow.

The smile on Sherlock’s face faded. “If I’m honest? Terrified.” He looked down into his coffee as if it would give him courage. “It’s hard not to be when every day we go over what could go wrong.”

John paused, licking his lips. He scooted closer to where Sherlock was leaning against the countertop, resting his hand on his shoulder.  “...You know, there’s something that a famous astronaut once told me once. It was right before my first mission. He’d just gotten back a few months before; retired, but he loved to hang around the base and help out the newcomers. One day I asked him how he’d managed to stay so calm when he got out there. I knew the odds of survival; we all knew them. And do you know what he did?

“He told me this great story. How, when he was a little kid, he used to be terrified of spiders. Horrified, even. Wouldn’t go into attics or old sheds or nothing. He’d watched all those nature shows about what spider venom did to you if it got in your system. Then, one day, he worked up the courage to do a bit of research on them. Learned that, out of all the spiders there are in the world- thousands of them- only a couple dozen are venomous. And then out of the spiders where he grew up, only one spider was venomous, and its venom isn’t even fatal. So instead of shying away from spiderwebs, he walked into them. Forced himself to get over his fear.”

John paused for a moment, condensing his thoughts. “It’s the same with flying. We know what the venom’s like. We know what it can do to us. But we know which spiders we need to worry about and - most importantly- how many spiders we don’t have to. So we don’t bat an eyelash when we walk through a web.” Suddenly uncertain, John looked towards Sherlock for confirmation. “...Does that make any sense?”

Sherlock’s hand moved to rest over John’s; hesitant at first, but with more weight once John didn’t move away. “Yes, Jean. I think it makes more sense than you realize.”

 

\---//---

 

_Image above: Expedition 42 members take a break from training at NASA’s Johnson Space Center to pose for a crew portrait. Pictured in the front row are Expedition 42 Commander William ‘Bill’ Murray (right) and Flight Engineer Pyotr Kozlov. In the back row, from left, are Flight Engineers Mike Stamford and Alexander Misurkin, Flight Surgeon John Watson, and Flight Researcher Sherlock Holmes._

_Expedition 42 began with the undocking of Soyuz TMA-13M in Nov. 2015. Three new crew members arrived on board Soyuz TMA-14M in Aug. 2015._

_Soyuz TMA-14M_  
 _Crew: William ‘Bill’ Murray, Mike Stamford, Pyotr Kozlov_  
 _Launch: August 19, 2015, 7:12 AM EST_  
 _Docking: August 21, 2015,  9:09 AM EST_

_Expected Return: December 28, 2015_

_Soyuz TMA-16M_  
 _Crew: Alexander Misurkin, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes_  
 _Launch: October 15, 2015, 6:58 AM EST_  
 _Docking: October 17, 2015, 8:55 AM EST_

_Expected Return: March 6, 2016_

 

\---//---

 

“You know, you could get your job done a lot faster if you stopped focusing so much on my hair. You’re not going to get blood drawn from it,” John teased.

Sherlock’s only response was to smirk, tying the rubber tourniquet tighter against John’s exposed bicep. In his left hand he held the needle and tubing required for his experiment’s weekly sample, poised and ready to go. “I can’t help it. Besides, if it means I can keep you here for longer... All the better, no?” The man made quick, efficient work of disinfecting the crook of John’s arm, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on his face. In such close quarters, the lilt of his accent was somehow made all the more sensual.

John did his best not to shiver, squeezing his arm to better expose the vein. “It’s not as if you don’t see me every day,” he responded, hissing as Sherlock pushed the needle in none-too-gently. His grip tightened to the velcro strap that kept him from floating away.

The Frenchman only shrugged, watching the blood trickle into the vial. “Not enough. Not like this.”

A smile graced John’s lips. “What, bleeding into glass tubes?” he teased.

The look Sherlock gave him in response was electric. “No. Alone.”

John could feel his hair standing on end- unable to look away, unable to breathe. “Sherlock…” His tone was a warning; there was a line that he couldn't cross, no matter how far Sherlock pushed at the boundaries.

Sherlock efficiently switched the vials, jamming it into the clip with perhaps more force than needed. The other vial floated above Sherlock’s shoulder, sealed, shaken and labeled. It would soon join its glass brethren; stored, processed and experimented on over the course of the following weeks. “I know. I’m not an idiot.”

“It’s not that. You know it’s not that,” John cut in, fighting the urge to move forward for the sake of keeping the needle in place. Sherlock’s grip tightened on his arm preemptively, his nails digging into his skin. “Then what is it, John?” he demanded.

“I…” What? What could he say? He opened his mouth once, twice, but nothing came out.

Whatever answer Sherlock had been expecting, it was certainly not that. His gaze turned cold and closed off, and his jaw clenched. In any other scenario John would have called it melodramatic- childish, even- but in the insurmountable tension between them it felt like ice.  “Exactly,” Sherlock spit out.

“No. Don’t give me that. Don’t shut me out,” John pleaded. He paused for a moment, unable to meet the other man’s eyes. Sherlock removed the needle from John’s arm and replaced with a bandage. The sound of the sharps container snapping closed reverberated in the otherwise quiet space. “I can’t. Not here. Not with the team here… What would they say?”

“What does it matter what they say?” Sherlock demanded.

But John only shook his head. “I’m here working, Sherlock. As are you.”

A second passed. Then another. When John finally had the courage to look up at his colleague, the look in his eyes snatched John’s breath away. In a heartbeat Sherlock was against him, pressing close. He could feel the warmth of his body through his clothes.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun…” Sherlock’s voice purred in his ear, sending shivers up his spine. Those nimble fingers of his brushed the edge of John’s shirt, stroking the soft cotton material. John inhaled sharply, frozen in place, unable to make a sound. Taking it as a sign to continue, Sherlock leaned forward, breathing against the nape of John’s neck. His hand slipped under his shirt, resting on his warm waist.

“Sherlock. Please.” It was obvious that he was interested - how could he not be with someone as attractive as Sherlock was? - but it couldn’t happen. He’d meant what he said, and by God, he’d stick by it. Not here. Not now. Exercising all the self-restraint he had, John pushed Sherlock away, giving him enough space to think. His blue eyes focused on the wall behind the man’s curly hair.

At that moment, an astronaut floated by the entrance to the laboratory, waving at them as he passed. John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and numbly waved back, trying not to think what would have happened if he’d come by five seconds earlier. They floated like that for a couple moments, catching their breath.

When John finally looked back at Sherlock, his expression was all ice. “...Fine,” he hissed, and without another word, he grabbed his vials and floated away. A part of John wanted to chase after Sherlock, but it was no use. He couldn’t change the circumstances. In the end, he was left all alone.

“...Shit.”

The doctor ran a hand through his hair, sighing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. But he couldn’t get over the feeling that, despite Sherlock’s cold response, he’d passed some sort of test.

 

\---//---

 

The team let out a triumphant shout as the string of bright lights flickered on, illuminating the squat plastic Christmas tree that had been brought out for the occasion. Over the bulkhead hung six jovial stockings, waiting for Father Christmas to fill them during the night. It was Christmas Eve and the space station was ready to celebrate. They’d heated up the apple juice packets to create a makeshift cider, and various astronauts were sharing the special foods they had packed with them; sugar cookies, shortbread, even a little bit of homemade fruitcake. Cans of cranberry sauce and packets of smoked turkey and mashed potatoes had been prepared and swiftly consumed. The mood in the station was one of general cheer and good tidings, fitting the season. Even Sherlock was cracking a smile, watching the proceedings around him with amusement, chuckling to a joke or two. For that evening, while all their partners, relatives and friends at home celebrated the festive season, they were their own makeshift family, celebrating in their own makeshift way.

“Merry Christmas, Houston,” Bill called out to the Space Center crew and ground-staff, eliciting another cheer from everyone on board. The CAPCOM on duty could be heard laughing hundreds of miles away, the center unseeable from where they were positioned. “Merry Christmas, Bill. Y’all have a good night, now. We’ll be waking you up at 0600, just as always.” After finishing up with the proper protocols, Bill closed the communications feed, cutting off their immediate connection to the world below.

In the flurry of movement that followed, John pushed towards the communications console, ‘apple cider’ in hand. He handed it to Bill, patting him firmly on the shoulder. The commander happily slurped it back as he looked out the window to the Earth beyond, showcasing a particularly interesting cloud formation over Nepal. John couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I can’t believe that you’re heading out,” he started, his tone wistful.

Bill hummed, nodding his head. “Wish I could stay longer, but you know how it is. Holmes could probably tell you all about what would happen to my bones.” He gestured back to where Sherlock was currently chatting with one of the other astronauts, his posture relaxed. It was the most comfortable that John had ever seen him. “Couple more weeks and I’ll be back home with the wife,” Bill continued. “Junior’s just turned six. Going home’s kind of my birthday present to him.”

He pulled out a well-worn, dog-eared picture from his pocket as he spoke, drawing John’s attention away from Sherlock. The photograph in question was of a little floppy-haired boy, smiling warmly as he hugged a large white dog. “Elaine took it. It’s for one of those stupid school projects. I thought it was cute.”

“He looks more like you every passing minute,” John remarked.

Bill’s smile was a brilliant white against the dark brown of his moustache. “You’ve gotta promise you’ll visit when you get outta here. He’s been asking where his godfather’s gotten to.”

They settled into a companionable silence after John insisted that he’d stop by (Kansas was pretty much on the way back to Calgary, after all, and it wasn’t like he was in any rush to get home, was there, back to that crappy, leaky flat of his). The Earth orbited below them, unphased.

Twelve years. It felt like more than a lifetime ago since they had got the job, unaware of what the future might hold. They’d spent countless hours in training back on Earth, chatting in the break rooms, studying Russian, and dreaming big. They’d gone on their first expedition together, thrumming with youthful energy and drive. It was too bad they didn’t get to end in the same way.

“...Say, Johnny, why don’t you get that guitar of yours out?” Bill asked wistfully.

John blinked in surprise. “What, now?”

Bill smiled that same smile John knew he could never say no to, no matter how ridiculous the request. “For old time’s sake.”  

And how could John say no to that? With a laugh and a smile, he pushed his way towards their sleeping pods, egged on by the other astronauts who had heard the tail end of their conversation.

Velcroed to the wall in a specially-designed case was the guitar; the same one he’d used on every trip he’d been on. Stickers from dozens of expeditions covered the small frame from countless other players. It had taken him a little while to get used to playing a guitar in space, but once he had, nothing could stop him from strumming out a few chords here and there. He wasn’t the best- not by a long shot- but it still meant a lot to people and gave them something to look forward to.

When John returned, guitar in hand, everyone had found a place to settle in and listen. He hooked his socked feet under a bar on the floor to keep himself floating away. After a quick and much-needed tuning, he strummed a few experimental chords; then, satisfied, he started to play.

 _“Dashing through the snow, in a one horse open sleigh…”_ The crew caught on quickly and joined in with various levels of skill, clapping and singing along. They made it through a rousing few choruses before switching to a raunchy rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”, followed (by request) by an excited “We Wish you a Merry Christmas”.

After a few more songs with moderate success, John felt it was about time to pack up. His fingers were smarting from the steel strings against his bare fingers, having no pick to play with. “One more song, boys,” he said as he started to play the last chord progression. Licking his lips and clearing his throat, he started to sing.

_”I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me…”_

As he played, his eyes caught Sherlock’s, noting his curiosity and surprise. He’d never been around when John had played before, too busy tinkering away in the laboratory. John didn’t dare to look away, transfixed, even when it meant slipping up in his playing. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.

John shivered, swallowing heavily. The room suddenly felt too warm. _”Christmas Eve will find me where the love light gleams… I’ll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams.”_

If there had been applause from the others, John didn’t notice. He was too focused on appearing unphased, fighting the colour rising to his cheeks. He could practically feel the blood pumping in his ears. Knowing that Sherlock was watching, no doubt with a smug grin on his face, didn’t help the situation. Nodding his head at the thanks directed his way, he stuttered out an excuse to leave and recompose himself.

When he finally made his way back to his pod and put the guitar away, John exhaled one long, weary breath, rubbing his hand over his face. How had he let himself get into this mess? He’d sworn off relationships years ago, not wanting to drag another person into his complicated life. And to think of someone on one of his tours? It was downright impossible. And yet--

A warm hand on his shoulder made him start, spinning around as fast as he could.

_Sherlock._

John opened his mouth to speak, but one long, thin finger stopped him. The whirring and hum of the instruments muffled the sound of the laughter and chatter of the party elsewhere. They were alone.

Whatever question must have been in John’s expression, Sherlock answered. His hand shifted to rest on John’s cheek, pulling him closer. John, entranced, didn’t pull away as he was drawn in. Sherlock’s breath was warm against his face. When he finally pulled in, cool lips brushing his, the difference in temperature made John’s blood sing.

It took a while for John to reciprocate to those hesitant lips, but when he did, it was as if Sherlock’s kiss was all he needed to survive. His hands came up to grip Sherlock’s arms, gripping tightly to his triceps. He revelled in the noise that Sherlock made as he pulled him flush against his body.

They waited until the last possible second before pulling away, breathing harshly. Sherlock’s hands had somehow ended up in John’s hair, gripping tightly, while John’s brushed the hot skin of Sherlock’s back. Where they had once been in front of John’s pod, they now floated about half a foot away.

“Jean,” Sherlock started, and the tone he used was enough to make John want to snog him right then and there. It was getting more and more tempting to drag him into his pod and have his way with him, crew be damned.

The sound of the monitors beeping and their crewmates laughing brought them back to the present moment, whether they wanted to or not. Once again, John cursed the situation they were in. They had jobs to do; reasons to be here. They couldn’t just scrimp on their duties.

Smiling fondly, John leaned forwards to slowly kiss the man’s cheek. “Happy Christmas, Sherlock,” he whispered.

And Sherlock smiled; a brilliant, sincere, slightly-crooked smile that took John’s breath away. “ _Joyeux Noël_ , Jean,” he murmured, running his hand down John’s neck. How a simple gesture could calm him down so much, he’d never know.

Oh, he was really a goner, wasn’t he?

 

\---//---

 

“I always wanted to be an astronaut. Ever since I can remember, it’s always been about space.”

Sherlock hummed, nuzzling closer to John’s side in the sleeping bag. John did his best to run his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, all too aware of how little space his pod provided them. They spoke in hushed tones, all too aware of the other astronauts that slept so close by.

“I remember asking my mum to make my halloween costume one year. We spent hours on it together- plastic bucket helmet, oven mitts for gloves, Dad’s shoe polish box as an oxygen pack. I was so proud of it,” John continued, smiling. “It’s silly, really, but it meant a lot to me then. I wouldn’t have been able to make it here without them.”

Warm lips lazily brushed John’s shoulder, morphing John’s smile into a grin. “And I am lucky for it,” Sherlock yawned. He stretched his neck, letting it crack, before resting it back in the crook of John’s neck. John could feel Sherlock’s warm breath against his skin as he breathed slowly.

“Then I started working for it. Passed my A levels. Went to school for medicine. Got a bachelor’s, then a master’s. Got my MD while I was taking physics courses. Took flying lessons. Signed up for training. Made it through candidacy. Got signed up for a tour. I wasn’t going to let that goal out of my sight, no matter how radical or stupid it seemed.”

John paused for a moment, chuckling under his breath. Sherlock huffed a little laugh in response- more an exhale than anything else.

“And, well. Now I’m here. Harry thought I was crazy for doing this. Still thinks I am. I don’t think she really ever got me, though. Couldn’t ever understand why I was so driven for this one little thing.” John licked his lips. “...It is kind of little, isn’t it? I mean, we spend all these years getting ready for a short couple months up in the sky. At the end of my career I’ll have no more than 8 months up here in space- all the proof I have for 20 plus years. I know Harry’s just teasing with me, but… Sherlock?”

Silence. When he received no response- not even a grunt- John turned his head to look at Sherlock, surprised to see him fast asleep. His features, normally tense and stern, had melted away to something that made him appear years younger. It had to be the calmest that he’d ever seen him. It didn’t help knowing he would have to wake him up.

Still, he could rest awhile, just breathing in the scent of his hair. Just another minute more. Or five. Maybe ten. Maybe never.

 

\---//---

 

_**00:10:56:** Misurkin: Houston, this is Soyuz TMA-17M. We are clear to go. Hatch has been closed and checked; depressurization complete. Requesting permission to begin disembarkation._

_**00:11:27:** Duke: Roger, Soyuz. This is Houston. You are go to begin disembarkation._

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m afraid.”

_**00:13:50:** Misurkin: Great, Duke. Beginning disembarkation sequence. Opening the Soyuz hooks._

The rustle of fabric as a gloved hand reached for another, gripping tightly.

“It’s just like the simulation last week. We’ve been through all the procedures. We know all the radiograms. Just breathe.”

_**00:17:18:** Misurkin: TMA-17M module has undocked from service module. We are go for lower orbital undocking. Easing away at 13cm/s. Undocking confirmed at 9:56PM Central Time._

_**00:18:18:** Watson: HR recorded as follows: Misurkin, 72; Watson, 80; Holmes, 103. BP: Misurkin, 120/80; Watson, 110/80, Holmes 115/75. Clear._

_**00:18:50:** Duke: Great. Standing by for burn report._

“Four hours and we’ll be back on Earth. I’ve done it twice before and been fine. Just keep that in mind.”

“Don’t you think I’m trying?”

“I think you’re succeeding.”

_**00:21:14:** Misurkin: The burn was on time. Residuals before nulling: minus 0.1, minus 0.4, minus 0.1, X and Z nulled to zero (static) nulling._

_**00:21:54:** Duke: Roger. Start preparations for de-orbit burn._

“You promised me that we’d go to Paris. I’m holding you to that promise, Sherlock.”

A laugh, albeit a choked one. The grip between the two tightened.

“You’ve got to show me all around. The shops… the restaurants… I’ve always wanted to see the Eiffel tower from the top.”

“Every tourist does that, Jean. It’s really not that exciting.”

“No? You’ll have to prove it to me. Then we can go to that cafe you told me about. The one Mme. Whats-her-name owns. Starts with an H?”

“Hudson. She’ll look forward to meeting you.”

“Good. I can’t wait to meet her, too.”

_**01:20:24:** Watson: HR as follows: Misurkin, 70; Watson, 85; Holmes, 84. BP is unchanged._

_**01:21:17:** Duke: Rog, Watson. You are go on de-orbit burn._

_**01:21:54:** Mizurkin: Roger. Sun check to 3 marks; Noun 20 minus Noun 22, plus 0.19, plus 0.16, plus 0.11. Over._

_**01:23:16:** Duke: Roger. Copy. Looks great._

“Will I get to visit you as well?”

“Not sure if you’ll like Calgary much. It’s not Paris. Very cold.”

“Oh.”

“Not to say that you can’t come. You just might not like it, that’s all. Promise.”

“I’m sure I can put up with it, as you say.”

“We can be creative on staying warm.”

A small, quirky smile is met with another (equally genuine) one.

_**03:14:28:** Mizurkin: Altitude marked at 140 km. Are we go on separation?_

_**03:15:18:** Duke: Separation is go, Mizurkin._

The craft shaked with each imploding bolt. It was enough to rattle teeth.

“Keep breathing, Sher.”

_**03:25:24:** Mizurkin: Beginning descent into atmosphere. We’ll see you on the other side, Houston._

_**03:25:55:** Duke: Rog. Countdown clock begins until end of blackout._

The window showed nothing but a fiery red, darkening as the window burned under the immense heat.

They can feel the pressure on their bodies as gravity and g-force come into play. The strength is enough to take their breath away.  

_**03:29:14:** Duke: Soyuz, this is Houston. Do you read? Over._

“My head feels heavy.”

“It’s normal. Don’t worry. Just lean back. We’ll be okay."

_**03:30:24:** Duke: Soyuz, Houston. Do you read? Over._

For a moment- almost like a mirage- they could have sworn they saw the ground below them, all muffled browns and greens. It was beautiful.

_**03:31:21:** Duke: Soyuz, do you read? Over._

_**03:31:55:** Duke: Blackout timer has passed 6 minutes. Soyuz, do you read? Over._

The cabin rattled and whirred as it spun quickly. Outside sound came rushing back to them as they passed the atmospheric barrier, roaring in their ears.

_**03:32:55:** Duke: Blackout timer has passed 7 minutes. Soyuz, do you read?_

With a jerk not unlike a car crash, the parachute deployed. The seatbelts dug into their bodies.

_**03:33:55:** Duke: Blackout timer has passed 8 minutes. Soyuz, do you read?_

_**03:34:30:** Mizurkin: Houston, this is Soyuz. We read you loud and clear. It’s good to be home._

 

 ---//---

 

_”One of the questions I always get asked is what my favourite view of the Earth is while in orbit. I never could answer it- never had a definitive answer. It’s taken me three tours, but I think I realize now that I’ll never have an answer. That’s not to say that I don’t have views I like-- Just that there’s so, so many, and they’re always changing. You can look at something a hundred times as you go around in space and suddenly, the hundred and first, bam. It takes your breath away. It’s different and gorgeous, just because of the change of weather or the angle of the sun. I’m not one to wax poetic, but there’s something intriguing about being up here in space. It makes you really appreciate beauty everywhere in your life, even in the most unexpected places.“_

_\- Audio Diary of Flight Surgeon John Watson, CAN, ISS Expedition 42. 3/5/2016_

 

 


End file.
